Farewell, Sweet Hazel

In the beginning

Today is Hazel's last day on earth.  It's been a shitty two weeks or so of trying to figure out what was wrong (kidney trouble), trying to fix it (with medicines and IV fluids) and, finally, trying to make her last days good ones (lots of chicken nuggets and bacon).

Alas, it's time. At 5 o'clock, we're putting Hazel to sleep. Her vet is going to come to our house and do it, which is very kind of her.

When I anticipated this day, I thought I'd be okay with it. In my head, it was the kids who would be sad. Oh man, was I wrong. I'm so sad I can hardly stand it. I know we've had a really good run with her—14 years is a long time—but at the same time, 14 years is a long time, and I can't imagine her not being around.

In the time that I've had Hazel I...

• Ended a long-term relationship, dated some douche bags and then met and married my husband
• Lived in 4 different states
• Bought my first, and second, house
• Held, and quit, a life-changing job
• Started two businesses
• Turned 30 and (almost) 40
• Had 2 children

She's been awesome, and sometimes wonderfully evil, and I'm really sad to see her go. To honor her I'm going to record a few of my favorite Hazel memories. There are tons—Hazel humping Mort (the cat), Hazel's amazing jail breaks, Hazel biting our client—but these are my favorites...

Hazel and the Doritos
I got Hazel in the summer of 1997 when I was working at Camp Thunderbird in northern Minnesota. At the end of the summer, I had to drive back to Kansas City with her in tow. I love junk food, and at one point in the drive, we stopped and I picked up a bag of Doritos and a Hostess pie. Not long after that, we stopped for lunch.

When we got back to the car, all that was left was the Doritos bag. The snacks were gone and Hazel was a living mural of road food. She had Dorito cheese all over her muzzle and a very little bit of pie goo on her ear (she had eaten the wrapper too). 

And so it began...


Hazel and the Running Tights
I go through phases of being a runner. The first one happened at the end of 1997. I was living in a total shithouse in Portland and I used to throw my running tights on the floor and wear them a second time (because I was foul).

On one of those "second time" runs, I noticed how fresh and delightful the day felt—particularly around my nether regions.  'See,' I thought. 'The weather's not so bad in the Northwest!' and I finished my run.

I got home and discovered that Hazel had eaten the crotch out of my tights.


Hazel and the Chocolate Bar
Sometimes, when you're a sad, single girl, you eat chocolate in your bed. On one of those times, I made the mistake of leaving my special chocolate on my nightstand while I went to the bathroom. When I came back, it was gone—wrapper and all. I considered taking Hazel to the vet since dogs can't eat chocolate, but she was sleeping peacefully, so I didn't.

In the middle of the night I was woken up by an epic dog burp. Hazel looked up from the end of the bed, licked her chops and groaned, as if to say, "Oy...I love chocolate, but it doesn't love me..." Then she went back to sleep.

Farewell, Sweet Hazel!

Acceptance, Rejection & the Shittlebury Cake

On Sunday, we went over to my cousin's house for dinner. We love them, but this visit was tinged with sadness because my niece (2nd cousin? cousin once removed?) had just gotten a rejection letter from Middlebury, her first choice. I have many nieces and nephews in the college application age bracket, so normally I'd chalk it up to competition and move on. But this Middlebury thing got my knickers in a knot.

My niece, Ally, is that rare person who is super smart, talented, charitable and wonderfully cynical. (So you don't have to loathe her.) She asked me to edit her college essays and one of them literally brought me to tears (KC got misty too). She got a full ride to St. Lawrence.  The YMCA gave her an award for being kickass.

So my question is this: if Middlebury didn't accept Ally, who got in? I can only imagine the collection of do-gooder-prima-ballerina-found-a-cure-for-cancer-on-the-side-half-cherokee-tight-assed pollyannas that will make up the Freshman class. I knew one person who went to Middlebury when I was in college, and she was a lock-jawed, vanilla, anally impaled by large stick biznatch. Good riddance, I say!

Anyway, I was responsible for bringing dessert. To show my solidarity, I baked the Shittlebury Cake...

Sooooooo tasty.

When Sophie Grows Up

Today, when I picked her up from school, Sophie told me that she wants to be a "firegirl" when she grows up...

Me: You do? Because you want to fight fires?

Sophie: Because I like fire hats and I like to wear red...and sirens don't annoy me.

She does look good in red.

Diaper or Food Storage?

Yesterday, at the end of a long work day, I made my routine trip to the bathroom--my final moments of peace before the evening maelstrom begins. I'm sitting there and I hear the taptaptaptaptap of Ava's little feet and then...

Ava: MAMA!!!

[taptaptaptaptap]

Ava: MAMA!! You in there?

Me: Yes.

Ava: Let me in!!

[I open the door.]

Ava: Mama! You go potty?

Me: Yup. What are you doing?

Ava: I playing.

[She starts to wiggle and make a face.]

Ava: Ow!

Me: What's wrong?

[She reaches into the front of her diaper.]

Me: Is something in your diaper? What is it?

Ava: Ow!

[She digs around and pulls out a piece of something about the size of a nickel.]

Me: What is that?

Ava: Cracker!

And then she put it in her mouth.

I stopped her before she could actually eat it, but if I hadn't been there, she would have had a snack that she found in her diaper.

I like to believe that in the event of an apocalypse, she'd outlive us all.

Pets & Farts

Pets

Last night Sophie watched Beezus and Ramona.  At the end, their cat dies (spoiler alert!!)...

Sophie: I'm glad Hazel's not dead.

[Yeah...about that...]

Me: Me too. But she is very old, sweetie.

Sophie: I know. She'll probably die soon.

Me: She might, but she's had a really long, good life.

[a long pause which includes some dancing and then...]

Sophie: Mom, when she dies, can we get another pet to replace her?

Me: Well, we can't replace her, but we'll get another pet eventually.

Sophie: When?

Me: When mom's not so sad about Hazel anymore.

[Yes. I talk about myself in the 3rd person.]

Sophie: Well when we do, I want to get a hamster...or a puffer fish.

Me: A puffer fish?

Sophie: Well, maybe 2 puffer fish so they can play together.


Farts
Later, at bedtime, Ava refused to let me put her pajamas on.

Me: Ava, I'm getting angry...

[Okay. I say it a lot, but at least I warn her.]

Ava: NO!

Me: Yes, I am. Now get over here and let me put your jammies on.

Ava: NO!

[Finally, she gives in and I put her on the changing table.]

Ava: Mama...you getting angry?

Me: Well I was because you wouldn't cooperate.

Ava: (with a devilish smile) You not angry.

[She lifts her bare tush up, screws up her face and cracks a giant fart.]

Ava: Mama...you hear my toot?  That funny.

Of course, she's right.

Melon Squeeze

It's been very quiet on the Bonnem/Friedman home front. The weather has been halfway decent; the children have been sleeping...sort of; not much to report, except...

Yesterday I made my quarterly trip to Costco. I used to go more often, but I can't handle it anymore.  Plus, small, rambunctious children and Costco do not mix. But yesterday, I broke down and took Ava because I needed huge amounts of meat and I'm cheap.

It was a very pleasant trip.  Ava sat in the cart and ate animal crackers almost the entire time...miraculous. We got snack foods, matching dresses for the girls (a thing I swore I'd never do and yet...), huge amounts of meat. I was getting ready to change my mind about Costco and small children, and then...

We had just finished up in the cold veggies section. Ava leaned over the front of the cart, gave me a hug and said, "I love you, mama."  So sweet.  Then, out of nowhere, she reached her little hands out and grabbed my boobs.  And not just a little pat.  I'm talking full bore, honk honk, melon squeeze in the middle of the cold cuts in Costco.

I said something about not touching mommy's boobs in public, which I later realized sounds like I permit her to squeeze them in private (I don't).  Then I hauled ass out of the cold cuts.

Why?

Mojo, Worried Presidents & Egyptian Leprechauns

Mojo
Last night while I was cooking dinner, Sophie asked KC what "mojo" means...

KC: Mara, explain to your daughter what "mojo" is.

Me: (thinking hard) It's like your special energy, or your spirit. It's sort of like good luck, but...

And then I went on for a little, trying to define "mojo". I used it in a sentence. I thought about mentioning the guy on our block who has vanity plates on his Range Rover that say "GR8MOJO" (more like "MEDI0KRMOJO" but that's another story). Anyway, Sophie listened patiently and then...

[pointing at the bottle on the counter]

Sophie: No...what's that Mojo?

Me: Oh. That's just a wine label. Mojo is the name of the brand.

Sophie: Oh.


Worried Presidents
Sophie is a Harry Potter addict.  We read it every night; we've been to the exhibit, and she's now on the 3rd movie. It's very cute and nerdy. 

This morning, we watched some Harry Potter: Prisoner of Azkaban which we started last night.We got to the part where Scabbers turns into Peter Pettigrew and Harry learns the true story of Sirius Black and his unfair incarceration. Interestingly, Sophie laughs through most of the movies. I'm not sure if that's because she doesn't understand what's going on, or because the acting is so hideously bad.  On the way to school, she wanted to talk about it...

Sophie: Peter Pettigrew was funny looking wasn't he?

Me: Yeah. He was a rat face, just like Scabbers.

Sophie: Yeah. He was funny with his teeth and his nails. He looked like a worried president.

I have no idea what she meant by that. When I asked her to clarify, she said, "You know, like George Washington," and then made a weird face.

I was just impressed that she knows who George Washington is.


Egyptian Leprechauns
After we talked about worried presidents, we saw a woman wearing a giant green felt top hat.

Sophie: What's that hat?!

Me: It's for St. Patrick's Day.

Sophie: Oh man! We didn't catch any leprechauns.

[Earlier in the week, she and Tyler made a leprechaun trap so Sophie could steal some gold and buy, "3 kinds of soda."]

Me: Oh well.  Maybe next year.

Sophie: Did you ever try to catch leprechauns when you were little?

Me: No. I wasn't smart enough to figure that one out. I did try to find the end of the rainbow so I could have the pot of gold, though.

Sophie: Did you find it?

Me: Nope.

Sophie: Well that's because it ends in London.

Me: It does?

Sophie: Yes.  That's where leprechauns come from...no wait...it's not London...I think leprechauns started in Egypt. That's where the pot of gold is.

Aha...that explains it.

I'm About to Be Angry...

Ava and I went to Starbucks again this morning...

Afterward, we ran a couple of errands. Then, when I went to put her in the car, she refused to get in her car seat. She wanted to go to the pet store and I told her that we couldn't, because I had to get home to take our pet to the vet. Still, she refused...

Me: Ava, put your tushy in that car seat.

Ava: NO!

Me: We need to get home.

Ava: NO!

[This goes on for a few minutes, and then...]

Me: Ava, I'm about to get angry...

Ava: I ABOUT TO GET ANGRY!!!

At that point, she knew she had crossed the line.  I gave her the look and started to count to three. She sat in her seat and I buckled her up.

Then, on the way home, she screamed at me because I wouldn't stop at Barnes & Noble to play with the trains.  When I suggested that maybe Tyler would take her later in the day she told me that Tyler locks her in her room.

For the record, that's not true.

Poop or Puke: Cast Your Vote!

Hazel barfed in the car on the way to school today. Sophie thought it was really funny, but let me tell you, it wasn't.

I'm a mom with a poop-holding child.  I've cleaned up a lot of disgusting things--feces-filled undies at 10,000 feet anyone? But there's something about barf--animal or human--that pushes me over the edge. Give me poop any day.  Keep your barf to yourself.

The poop/puke preference is a big dividing factor among parents. Ask any parent, and they will belong solidly to one camp or the other (except KC who, when I asked which he thought was worse said, 'Depends on the poop,' but then conceded that 'barf is always bad.').

Anyway, since I've been blogging for months now and haven't had a single comment, I thought I'd solicit some by inviting you to weigh in. It's time to end the debate forever. So which is it? Feces or vomit, doodie or barf, turds or upchuck, caca or throw up, butt nuggets or technicolor yawns, dropping the kids of at the pool or praying to the porcelain goddess.

Which is worse?  Cast your vote!

Kissing and Some Awesome Dancing

This morning I took Ava to Starbucks...

When we got home, we hunkered down on the couch for some princess Wii action and I gave her a kiss:

Ava: You just hug me.

[I give her a hug and she pats my hand. Then I give her another kiss.]

Ava: Don't kiss me.

Me: Oh. I can hug you, but I can't kiss you?

Ava: No...you can kiss daddy.

Me: But I can't kiss you?

Ava: No. It's gross.



In other news, here is a video of the girls rocking out to Kidz Bop. It's not great—doesn't even come close to capturing the insanity—but I love Sophie's move on the floor.

23 Mustaches and a Diaper Wedgie

Today's post was going to be about how I'm losing my Jewishness complete with a story about how my children played "Schmear! The Build a Bagel Card Game" and didn't recognize the key components (Ava called the bagel a doughnut and Sophie, after correcting her, announced that she had put ham on her bagel). But then 2 things happened:

1. I cleaned up and discovered some wonderful schoolwork from Sophie.
2. I snapped a memorable picture of Ava.

So without further ado...

23 Mustaches

You can never have too many mustaches.

Glenn Hughes: a Portrait, by Sophie Bonnem

The Diaper Wedgie
Whenever Sophie gets a wedgie she tells us her butt is eating her undies. Ava's butt was obviously starving...

Would a good mother have pulled it out?

I'm Getting Old and I've Let Myself Go

Note: This is not a post about my children, though I feel they're partly to blame for my condition.

My 9th anniversary is in a few days (and I turn 40 this year). I know everyone knows this, but it's amazing how quickly time passes. Not too long ago, I showed our wedding album to the kids and they didn't recognize me. That's because I am a bloated, tired, old crone version of the fresh-faced bride I was 9 years ago.

Here's how I've let myself go:

1. I'm chunky. I've never been skinny, but I was always fit. Then I got pregnant twice and ate a bunch of doughnuts. The rest is history.
   
2. I'm tired. I have 2 small children, neither of whom is mellow (though I was promised a mellow one after the first spazzer was born).
3. I wear a sad mom uniform. Part of the reason I have a sad mom uniform stems from points 1 and 2; the rest is because I work from home and no one ever sees me. The uniform consists of a ribbed tank top under a scoop or v-neck long sleeved t-shirt with jeans or Old Navy "walking pants" (glorified sweats) on the bottom. 
4. I don't exercise...at all. Today an old friend emailed me suggesting we get together this weekend for lunch or a run. I was like, 'Are you nuts?'. Then I remembered that I used to be athletic.
5. I don't wear makeup. It's not as though I used to be a Tammy Faye, but I had my little routine. Now, if I wear makeup, it's a special occasion. Case in point: I was putting on eye liner and Sophie came in and saw me and said, "What's that?!"
6. I don't shower enough. And its not because I'm trying to save water.

 The good news is that I'm actually much happier than I used to be. But every now and then I'll look at myself in the mirror and think, "Who the hell is that?!"

A PETA Concern

So I've mentioned our aged dog, Hazel. (She recently took an enormous crap on the carpet in our basement.) I've had Hazel since she was about 5 weeks old. I bought her for $5 from a guy who was trying to unload a box of puppies outside of Target in Bemidji, MN. She was the runt of the litter and was being trampled by her more robust siblings when Shelby Corson, a beloved camper (I was the counselor), pulled her out and I fell in love with her.  I wanted to name her "Coolio", but my co-counselor and good friend, Emily, sold me on Hazel.

Hazel was rotten from day 1. She bit the campers. She peed on Emily's bed. I had to repeatedly get her dewormed because she wouldn't stop eating horse poop. 13+ years later she's still evil. (And, yes, I took her to puppy school and she passed with flying colors.) We work from home and she has, on more than one occasion, farted during a client meeting. She barks at the old people who live on our street and tries to attack any dog that comes within 400 yards of her. She steals the children's food and licks the dishes while I'm trying to load the dishwasher. She snores.

That said, we all love Hazel, even Ava...

[I am loading the dishwasher and Hazel is licking the dishes despite my repeated commands to stop.]

Me: [yelling] Hazel! For the love of God...

[Ava gets down from her chair, comes over to us and pats Hazel.]

Ava: Hazel nice.  Hazel my friend.

Me: Hazel's your friend?

Ava: Uh huh. Hazel my friend...Don't beat her.

Yes, my 2 year old was telling me not to beat our dog (I asked her to repeat herself just to make sure).  And this is where I'd like to say, "I have no idea where she got that from!" but I do. I regularly threaten to beat Hazel, but she doesn't speak English so I never worried about my fightin' words. Alas, my children do speak English, and now they think I'm an animal abuser.

The Victoria Wrap Up (including a Very Special Video)

Three days is a long time when you're 2.  I'd forgotten about that until we got back from our trip and Ava attached herself to me like a baby koala. She is all mommy all the time.  Fortunately, she's cute, but yesterday, she pulled her little rocking chair into my bathroom so she could hang out with me while I did my business. I'm thinking that I need KC to go away for a few days so that he can become the object of her affection.

In other news, I discovered a series of 5 videos that Sophie made while we were in Victoria (note that she made said videos while sitting on the potty).  This is my favorite: